Lucky for Alan, Brodie had given him a task, a message to take to his uncle, or he would have turned and left Achnacarry as soon as he’d arrived. As it was, his visit was cut short after only two days, for his uncle played host to Hugh MacMillan. And the chieftain from the south showed no sign of grief over the recent loss of his daughter just after the loss of his wife.
His disregard for his daughter’s death irked Alan for some ill-defined reason. Surely even a daughter deserved a proper mourning? A brief but poignant pause to mark her life and her passing? Comparing this man’s reaction to the loss of a daughter to what he’d witnessed when Brodie had lost a child not yet born just made Hugh seem that much more heartless. Still, this attitude was not so different from many high-born men. His uncle would be the same as Hugh, seeking only sons on his new wife. Any daughters would be a disappointment to him.
The feast in progress on Alan’s arrival just made it clearer to him, especially as the presence of two marriageable Cameron cousins sitting on either side of Hugh at table told of his uncle’s decision that Hugh should marry a Cameron. The two women were as different as could be. Margaret was a young widow with several young sons. Hannah was unmarried and untried at bearing children. Alan huffed out a short breath as he made his way through the hall to a table closer to the front. This feast was a marriage mart as his uncle gave The MacMillan a choice of women knowing either one would tie him to The Cameron.
As Brodie had said, Hugh MacMillan’s claim on Castle Sween was tentative at best now that there was no heir from Erca MacNeill. Her family could rightfully claim the castle back from the Lord of the Isles, The MacDonald.
A marriage linking him to the powerful Camerons would give pause to the weaker MacNeills about making that claim and facing the wrath of the Camerons. If they knew that the Camerons would answer the call to defend their kinswoman’s home and family, they would hesitate to attack. But would it benefit the Camerons and especially his uncle? What did MacMillan offer to balance the bargain?
So, Alan took a place and watched the interactions of those three and his uncle’s scrutiny of the whole scene. There was such a self-serving smirk of satisfaction in his uncle’s dark gaze that it made Alan uneasy. Brodie suspected something more was going on between these two and now, after watching, Alan had no doubt of it.
But what? To anyone watching, it was the simplest and most common of all alliances—a marriage between clans. The tingling that crept up and down his spine as the feast continued confirmed to Alan that it was so much more. Who would know what was going on and if it would be trouble for the rest of the clan?
Alan’s father might.
* * *
He waited a respectable two days after watching The MacMillan choose the well-proven but still young widow as his bride before he left and rode south to Tor Castle. His father served as castellan for the clan in a castle that they had taken from the Mackintoshes more than a century before during the years before their feud grew so deadly that a truce was sought. Alan offered to carry any messages his uncle had to his father or back to The Mackintosh in taking his leave. A cold blank stare was his uncle’s reply.
Travelling along the lochs and rivers, he could make the journey to Tor in one day, so he set out in the morning. By the time he crossed the River Lochy and as the sun set, he reached the gates of the castle and was greeted by his cousin Culloch who stood guard. Entering this keep was easier than Achnacarry, for his parents made him welcome. When he reached the hall inside, they were waiting for him. Though the evening meal was done, servants stood at the table ready to fetch food and drink for him.
‘Mother,’ he said, as she wrapped her arms around him. ‘Father.’ He nodded in greeting at his father as his mother continued to hold him tightly to her. It had been too long.
‘It has been too long a while since you were here, Alan,’ she whispered, echoing his thoughts aloud.
‘Come now, Elizabeth,’ his father said as he gently pulled her from Alan. ‘You know Gilbert keeps him busy.’
‘Or away rather,’ his mother muttered. She stepped back and examined him from the top of his head to his boots. ‘You are not eating well,’ she declared. Pointing to the table that had been empty, but was now filled with all sorts of platters and bowls and cups, she waved him to it. ‘Come. Eat.’
He had learned long ago not to refuse his mother’s orders and so he sat and let her force him to eat. After the bowl of well-cooked, well-seasoned venison stew and half a loaf of bread eased the worst of his hunger, he slowed down and leaned back on the chair. His mother, as always, watched him take, chew and swallow every bite and mouthful of food. Only when she relaxed her close vigil did he stop eating.
‘What brings you here now, Alan?’ his father asked. ‘I did not expect you.’
Everyone said that Robert Cameron was a vision of Alan in a score of years. The same brown hair and blue eyes. The same muscular, tall build. Some of the same temperament, too, apparently, if kith and kin were to be believed. To know how he would age, he had but to look at his father to ken it, they said. But Alan never did see the resemblance that everyone spoke about.
‘Can I not simply wish to see my parents?’ His father glanced at his mother and then back to him. Then, as one, they both shook their heads. ‘I have been at Achnacarry,’ he began.
‘Has the MacMillan chieftain chosen a bride yet?’ his mother asked.
Elizabeth MacSorley looked much as she did every time Alan saw her. Other than a few grey hairs mixed in with the brown and one or two new wrinkles at the edges of her green eyes, she had not changed in the years since he began noticing such things.
‘Then you know about it? You know that Uncle Gilbert’s betrothed died? And that now he seeks to bind the MacMillans to us by marrying Margaret to him?’
He had not meant to blurt it out like that, but once the words escaped it was too late to withdraw them. His father stood then and held his hand out to his mother. The servants here were loyal to Gilbert and would report back to him if they thought it needed to be done.
‘Come, join us in our chamber and we can continue this.’
Alan nodded thanks to the servants and followed his parents up the stairs in the round tower to their chambers. Instead of separate rooms for each of them, they continued to share one room and one bed even after many years of marriage. Once the maid poured wine for them and closed the door, Alan waited for his mother to sit before facing his father, who stood a few paces from him.
‘Did you know? Of either of his plans?’ he asked. Was his father complicit in whatever Gilbert was manoeuvring into place around them?
‘I knew of his seeking a betrothal to the MacMillan chief’s daughter,’ his father admitted. ‘I saw nothing amiss in it, other than the usual things for Gilbert.’
‘Robert!’ his mother whispered.
‘Alan understands what I mean, Elizabeth,’ his father said. ‘As chieftain, he has the right and the duty to seek a wife and heirs. He holds title to lands that must stay in the clan.’ His father let out a breath and shook his head. ‘I do not approve of his treatment once he marries, fear not.’
His mother’s mutinous expression did not soften even with his admission. She had known how Alan had felt about Agneis and his plans that were crushed by her marriage. And how his spirit was crushed by her death.
